


Plant Your Trees

by theocoeur



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BOTFA fix it, Fix It, Fluff, M/M, aka i am Ignoring it, but with the power of fic anything is possible!!!, canon is anything i want it to be, yes i am sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27222451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theocoeur/pseuds/theocoeur
Summary: A breath of fresh air after the bloody Battle of the Five Armies.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Plant Your Trees

A warm breeze danced through the open window as Bilbo Baggins began fixing a quick afternoon tea. The sun shone brightly over top the grassy rolling hills of the Shire and birdsong carried over the valleys. All was peaceful and quiet, very much welcome in Bag End. But so different from Erebor and the battlefields beyond. 

As the hobbit chopped strawberries he remembered the slicing of blades, a quick dance of unknown odds, clashing as swords and daggers hit against each other, and if lucky danced right back off into another direction. It seemed everything was echoes of the battle, the bloodied steps of Dale, the crumbled towers and ragged flags blowing desperately in the breeze. Months, it had been, but Bilbo could never quite get the sounds out of his head. More specifically, he could never get a dwarf out of his head.

Thorin Oakenshield. King Under the Mountain. Rightful ruler of the great kingdom of Erebor. But also the leader of the Company. A dreadfully special and important dwarf. One that seemed hard as diamond and just as polished, but really to Bilbo he was different. To the whole of the Company. He was a king, yes, but he was also dreadfully stubborn and had a dislike of red wine. He liked brie more than gouda, was superstitious, always had at least one knife on his person. A dwarf talented in smithing, in braiding, in fighting. Thorin was filled with pride and love, for his home, for his people, for his company. And Bilbo loved him. Loved his long hair with the silver streaks that he always seemed ashamed of, loved his sharp nose and profile, his dark, long, elegant eyelashes, most of all loved how he acted towards the Company. He had been hard on them, yes, but he loved them more than anything. They were his family. Bilbo missed them terribly.

Thorin’s stubbornness had gotten them up to Ravenhill. Chilled and slick with ice, wind howled and tore at the hobbit. Frost bit into his cheek as he strode around, sneaking, and he fell into snow as he lost consciousness. Bilbo did not know what had happened until later. He was told that Fili and Kili snuck around a tower of tunnels, until they were caught by orcs. Dreadful beasts that held blades to Fili’s throat and Kili’s back until arrows shot seemingly from the wind. Two elven figures jumped down and fought the orcs viciously; Tauriel of the Elven Guard, and Legolas, son of Thranduil. Together and with the help of the two stunned dwarves they vanquished the orcs, not noticing Bilbo laying upon rocks and snow, and moved on to the field before the doors of Erebor.  
Bilbo woke frightened. A pain in his head where it had been hit, a smudging of red blood on his fingertips as he touched his hand to the back of his head. The hobbit heard a cry of anger coming from below and quickly got up. He ran around the remnants of the tower and the fallen elves, disoriented.

In his hoarse voice he cried “Anyone? Is anyone there?” but got no reply. A clang of metal echoed from over near the frozen river, Bilbo suddenly heard, and made ways over towards the sound. But before he could climb down a wall, he heard a scream of pain, chillingly familiar.  
Bilbo tore towards the sound. Before he could see the figure’s face he knew it was Thorin. The dwarf lay curled inwards on the blood-speckled ice, hands clenching a deep wound. Bilbo ran to his side.

“Fili?” Thorin asked. “Kili?’

“Thorin, it’s me,” Bilbo said, his heart in his throat. “It’s me, Thorin, it’s Bilbo.” He choked over his words.

“Bilbo,” Thorin said softly.

“No, don’t look. Don’t move. Stay still.” Bilbo said, his eyes prickling. With horror he saw the ugly wound in Thorin’s stomach, where the horrid Azog had stabbed him 

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, Yavannah. Thorin.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin said, turning his head gently to look at Bilbo. “I am glad you’re here.”  
Bilbo shushed him, taking his hand and holding it tightly. Thorin took a shaky, shallow breath.

“Bilbo,” he said again. “I wish to part from you in friendship.” Bilbo’s heart broke like pieces of ice.

“No, you are not going anywhere, Thorin. You are going to live.” Thorin blinked slowly, tiredly.  
“I would take back my words and deeds at the gate.” he said, taking a breath. You did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me,” he said, taking Bilbo’s hand and putting it to his mouth, kissing it gently. “I was too blind to see. I am so sorry that I have led you into such peril.”

Bilbo suddenly felt angry. This dwarf was going to live, there was no need for such sentiments. But he felt his heart drop as Thorin coughed in pain, blood coming from his lips.

“Thorin, Thorin, no. No, I am glad to have shared in your perils. Thorin. Each and every one of them. It is more than any Baggins deserves.”

Thorin gave the hobbit a sad smile. “Farewell, Master Burglar. Go back to your books and your armchair. Plant your trees, watch them grow.” His lip trembled as he held Bilbo’s hand tighter. “If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place.”

Tears streamed down Bilbo’s face and fell onto the ice, hot and fast. “Thorin, don’t you dare. Thorin, no, no, please, Thorin, no, no, no.” Bilbo let out a cry as Thorin’s grip went limp.  
Looking around in heartbroken terror, he saw shapes in the sky. A whimper escaped his throat as he cradled Thorin’s face. 

“The eagles, Thorin.” he said desperately. “The eagles are coming. Please. Hold on.”

Bilbo did not let go of the dwarf’s hand, even when he was taken to the Elven tents. He sat by his side night and day, hardly eating or sleeping, even when Fili and Kili begged him to. Finally, as he was asleep, he was carried out and placed into another tent, his wounds bandaged and face cleaned. Only several hours later did he wake with a cry, looking around in a panic. 

“Thorin,” he gasped. “Where has Thorin gone?’ Gandalf, who had been sitting in the corner with his pipe lit, cleared his throat.

“You are an extraordinary hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.” he said, taking a draw of smoke. “And yet even when you are injured, you take not a moment to worry about yourself.”

“Where is Thorin?” Bilbo repeated. “Where am I? What has happened?” Gandalf coughed and tapped out his pipe, stamping on the embers.

“Your questions will be answered, do not worry.” He said. “You are in an Elven healing tent, about thirty yards from the one you were in last. Although,” he added, seeing Bilbo begin to lift himself out of bed, “You may have to be magically confined to your bed. You need to heal as much as anyone.”

Bilbo huffed. “Damned wizards. Can you tell me, at least, what happened? I barely remember a thing.”

“I suppose you would not,” Gandalf sighed. “Since you have worn yourself fretting. I found you upon a frozen river, covered in dwarven blood and holding Thorin. You begged me to heal him, and I could not.”

Upon hearing those words, Bilbo’s ears filled with a static hum. Gandalf could not save Thorin. He was gone.

Bilbo did not think. He simply flung off the bedsheets and ran out of the tent into the freezing wind, bumping into Elves and Dwarves and the occasional Man without a second thought until he found the tent he was looking for. Fili and Kili sat at the entrance, poking the ground miserably with sticks, until they saw him and their eyes lit up.

“Mr. Bog- Mr. Baggins!” Kili cried. “Where’ve you been?” Bilbo headed towards them.  
“Where is Thorin?” he asked, panicked.

“Uncle?” Fili said, his eyes clouding. “He’s, well, he’s in this tent. But were given strict orders by the elves not to let anyone in, on account of- Mr. Boggins, don’t go in there-”

But Fili was cut off as Bilbo practically ran into the tent. It was dark, and as his eyes adjusted he saw an Elf cleaning bloody bed sheets, pulling them off an empty bed.  
His eyes welled. “Elf, where has Thorin Oakenshield gone?” The Elf looked at him in surprise, but spoke quietly.

“He’s gone, he’s not here anymore. I am sorry I could not be of more help.”  
Bilbo made a noise and turned around, a sharp lump in his throat. Quickly he ran out of the tent and into the camp, ignoring the calls of Fili and Kili. He ran until he slammed into a tall, dark-haired elf helping an injured dwarf walk along the outskirts of the camp. Immediately he began to apologize profusely before noticing the sharp blue eyes of the dwarf beside her. Thorin’s mouth opened as Bilbo gasped and ran towards him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“You idiot,” Thorin said against Bilbo’s hair. “I thought you had died. That you had left me.”  
Bilbo laughed through tears. 

“I thought you had died, you silly dwarf! You were gone from the tent, and the sheets were all bloody, and-” 

Thorin swept Bilbo into a soft kiss. The hobbit stiffened in surprise, but then leaned into the kiss. Thorin’s cheeks were cold from the wind but his lips were warm and gentle, kissing harder as Bilbo’s hands cupped his face. They broke apart, teary-eyed and full of love, as Gandalf, Fili, and Kili hurried towards them.

Bilbo inhaled a puff of smoke and blew it out into the summer evening. He and Thorin had eaten their afternoon tea a few hours back and were now about to make dinner; a delectable carrot and rabbit stew, one of Thorin’s specialties. Even though it had only been three years since the Battle in Erebor, Bilbo felt like it had been ages. Though, life was much different in the Shire, in the cozy, warm halls of Bag End. He was thankful to be home, thankful that he and his dwarf had lived another day, and then another, then another, and then this day today. 

The sky had transformed from blue into yellows and pinks and purples, the same sunset in Erebor, he thought as he rocked in his chair. Thorin came up behind him and kissed his cheek.

“Dinner is near ready, ghivashel. Come on in and get your drink and plate.”  
“I’ll be right behind you,” Bilbo said, standing up from his chair and kissing Thorin. “I can’t wait, dear.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you guys liked this! very short but i felt I should write some hobbit fic bc i am Emotionally Damaged. i wrote this all in one sitting quite late, so forgive me if it's not all that good!! but a comment telling your thoughts would be appreciated <3


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